Indecent Proposal
by sometimesmilla
Summary: Season 8. Drunk Penny goes to Sheldon and makes him an indecent proposition, which results into an interesting counter proposal from Sheldon.


I swing the boys apartment door open without knocking at around 3am in search of Sheldon— _don't ask me why._

When I find the man in question awake, and in the dark, standing by the window, with a Pepsi in one hand; the other tucked into his pocket, I first assume it's a hallucination. Sheldon is just about to take a swing, but he stops short, and so does his breath, then it returns haltingly. There's a beat where he is clearly unsure if he should tip the can, and ingest. Seeing as he got this compulsive need for closure—he does, scowling at the taste.

Don't ask me why Sheldon is missing out on his ever so precious REM cycles to drink Pepsi in the dark either, because honestly, I'm too drunk to care. Just the effort of inhaling oxygen is already making me light-headed, and forcing me to cling onto the door frame of 4A to keep myself from pancaking my face on the floor, while the world spins counter-wise at million miles an hour.

"Sheldon." My voice is far too tentative and tiny, a child's. He must hear it, too, because after a moment, pools of liquid blue focuses on me and pins me down like I'm one of those extinct butterflies from that museum Leonard took me for our 5th date. I don't say anything, and neither does he because we both know he has already figured it out. None of it needs to be put into words anyway. He knew it would never work; he tried to warn me.

A part of me wants to lie and pretend like everything is fine, but my acting is so out of practice these days that I don't even try. I just flatten my stomach against the frame for more support, and drop my temple onto the wood. I feel like I might burst into flames. I might explode. I need to scream loudly, or cry a tsunami or something— _I don't_. I just close my eyes so not to do any of that—it's about as effective a strategy as sticking your head in the sand, but I'm fresh out of options.

He doesn't answer, of course, just keeps torturing me with that stare of his. The moment feels like the naked part of a dream. Or the first time you step under a spotlight for a audition. I know he's only holding quiet because he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Probably indecisive on the correct protocol; would he approach me to pet me my head like I'm a puppy with rabies and say there, there, Or should he go for the easier, more common tactic of preparing a warm beverage?

"Penny." Sheldon starts in a tired voice. Making it sound as if I'm somehow draining away all of his energy just in the same way a black hole does the universe.

I look at him from under my lashes. He blurs a bit, and I blink twice to re-focus. Backlit by the street-light Sheldon is reduced to a featureless hulking silhouette, but it's not enough to hide his eyes. He is holding himself tall with the poise of a king— _or say Batman_ —and the look in his eyes is not any softer. I'm even amazed my brain isn't splattered all-over the place like some sort of guy shot victim.

"Could I come inside?" I ask, quietly afraid of the answer.

"Well." Sheldon's voice drops several decibels. His eyes move left and right. "I'm not so sure."

My heart drops like a led balloon. I've little else to do, or say other than briefly glance around the dark apartment, then stare at my shoes, at a spot of dirt on the toe of my left one, and ask;"Why?"

"Maybe it wouldn't be a good idea." His accent drips from the words like syrup.

This is not something I expect to hear, it confuses me more than anything he has ever said in the past, and that is saying something when the man has had a habit of deep-frying my brains cells on a daily basis for the last eight years. Before I can catch myself, I level him with my most _blondest_ expression, and ask; "What is that suppose to mean?"

Sheldon ignores me, sips his pepi instead. Then glances over my shoulder and makes a face, one so new I can't pint point it's meaning. When he then inhales to answer, I panic at the likelihood that he is about to string together a ton of big offensive words, and drop it all on my almost comatose little monkey brain for processing, but like a miracle he only adds; "Penny." He says it like he usually does, no accent. "Please, come in."

I assume I'm stable enough on my feet to push off his door frame, and do as I'm told, but the thing is— _I'm not._ It turns out my stomach is firmly opposed to any sudden movements, so it summer-salts, and suddenly I feel that tell-tale, sickly sweet taste seeping out of my salivary glands. I've been drunk enough times to know that sickeningly sweet saliva means only one thing. My body is going to spew, within the next few seconds.

I clamp hand to mouth and dive for the sink as if I've got some sort of superhuman powers of speed, like the flash—or something. On crossing the kitchen threshold I trip over my own feet, and stop dead just shy of my target, body automatically bending over. Nausea slops and sloshes through my body and I stay absolutely still for it not to rise in my throat. It's in this exact moment that I feel, rather than see, Sheldon come at me like a missile.

"Don't you dare, woman!" The twang is back in his voice, rolls in thick and very southern, which means he is either drunk, or angry. His next few movements shape into a blur, but I can't afford to care too much about the details. The cliffs-notes is that the man takes either side of my waist, hoists me up and forward like a paper doll, and has me bent over the sink in the nick of time.

In the background of Leonard's digested carrot— _and some_ —splashing away, I hear Sheldon's very distinct squeal of horror, and little else besides heavy breathing. I'm guessing he is trying to play it off cool for my sake but I know he is probably closer to flipping out. I can almost hear him in his head, reciting pi to 80 decimal places backwards while I vomit spectacularly, again, and again—and _again_.

Even when my stomach's empty and nothing is coming up, horrible dry heaves wrack my body until my eyes starts water. My body eventually gives-up on attempting to bring up my guts. Screwing my eyes tightly shut I ever so un-lady-like wipe away a thread of vomity spittle on my forearm, and inhale hard, filling my lungs to the rims.

"Better?" Stiffening my spine, I almost choke on my shame. I've no problem admitting this is totally beyond pathetic. And _yes, fine_. I'd reached some serious low points in the past, very many very similar, but this one takes the cake, mainly due to one special thing; _Sheldon._

It takes me an embarrassingly long time to compute his one word question because I'm totally distracted by him, and his invasion of my personal bubble. I'm, in fact, wedged between the sink and Sheldon. The man is right up close with his body sort of pressed up against my back, and his left arm is a thing forged of iron steel around my waist, lodged in the underside of my breasts.

Sheldon is solid, soothing and warm, a kind of warmth I've never ever felt with Leonard, and I'm reminded of how good it used to be to feel tiny and sheltered fitted against a man as tall as my father. And my body, realizing this is new, begins to do things, nerves wake up, something not quite good and not quite bad creeps down my spine.

As awkward as _this_ is, I'm intrigued with the possibilities of what _this_ could mean, and so I say nothing, and do nothing. I want to test how long it'll take for him to detach himself from me and go berserk about germs, or maybe for a pig to fly overhead. For some reason he doesn't budge an inch, keeps on breathing on me as though all of this physical contact— _is normal for him_. And still there are zero farm animal with wings in sight.

"Penny, are you able to stand?" He whispers low against the side of my head. I feel his belt buckle digging into the small of my back, his breath warm on my cheek. Sheldon then places his other hand on my lower stomach and with it eases me back from the sink, against his body. But instead of removing his hand or himself as he should, he stays, and his thumb starts tracing small circles at the hem of my top, gathering fabric, till flesh is on flesh.

I drop my eyes to stare at his arm around me, at his hand on me, touching me. Sheldon's touch is so new that I _swear to god_ it burns like it's ice. I wonder if his fingerprint will transform into frostbites – it takes me a significant amount of time to realize how silly a notion that is, but realism has slid out of the window a long time ago. Still, it could be an interesting branding method.

Outwardly, my body stiffens; inwardly, my bones slowly begin dissolving into jelly, and before I know it, I'm slaked on him like a marionette with cut strings. Sheldon only tightens his hold a smidgen, and thumb keeps drawing circles on my hip bone. I can't help but wonder if I've fallen through one of those sci-fi portals—like a star gate—or a Tardis, and landed in the arms of a Dr Sheldon Lee Cooper from some alternate universe; then very quietly, so quietly I'm not sure he hears, I address the elephant in the room. "You're touching me."

All Sheldon does is tap his thumb three times, and pulls away a moment later. He doesn't say a thing about it at all, not even an apologetic sound. This loss of support though doesn't help my stability any, because suddenly, I'm hit with a major wave of dizziness. I fist my hands on the counter's edge to hold myself steady and try to evaluate if the feeling is a brief one, or the more terminal type. It only takes a second to realize it's the latter. I've become so dizzy, I feel as though I might faint— _Hollywood style._

"You look pale." Sheldon sounds far away like he's speaking through water, but I can tell that he is still closer than it's appropriate. Just as I'm about to lie and say I'm fine I have this sensation, common enough, at least to me, come over me—a feeling that I'm about to get to know the floor in a truly personal level, but before I have the pleasure of doing just that, Sheldon put his hands on me again.

* * *

 _ **N** ote **:** Shenny is my current obsession, so since I run out of fics to read, I thought I'll give back to this lovely fandom by writing one of my own. It is my first for Tbbt, so be kind. I really really wanted to make this smutty, but I love to be a tease, so stay tuned for future chapies and review, cause it's love. **PS:** I've edited a bit._


End file.
